


la vie en rose.

by tastylemonade



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor has anxiety issues can i get an amen, F/M, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, POV Second Person, Smoking, but he's trying to stop for you isn't he the sweetest, i am a slut for all this reverse au, reverse au connor is a heavy chainsmoker, reverse!au - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:11:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastylemonade/pseuds/tastylemonade
Summary: Connor has a nightmare. He calls you for comfort.





	1. i.

“Amanda?”

_No. Please, not again, not tonight-_

It always begins the same, but you attempt to call out to her anyway. You stand in a garden that’s become ingrained in your memory, eyes frantic to find her figure in the chaotic blizzard. The sun is never present here, but you don’t remember it being a pleasant memory in the first place. Not to say it wasn’t beautiful; she made sure the various flora was well kept. It was the only time you remember her seeming peaceful. In the distance, you see the vibrant rose bushes she was fond of the most- the small scars you have on your hands from helping take care of them are countless.

The cold grips your entire body as you hurry to hold yourself tightly. You’re never wearing anything warm. Her back is turned away from you, she is always speaking to someone else, someone hauntingly familiar. You can never make out what they are saying. You would rather not know.

The snow is difficult to walk through, and breathing is beginning to become a challenge. You still raise your voice over the howling wind, a hand outstretched to guide you. Once you reach her, however, it becomes unbearable to stand, so you fall to your knees. Her words are not a surprise anymore, but you feel the tears before they spill over.  _“Pathetic, Connor.”_  You raise your head up to meet her gaze. There is no love in her eyes. Her approval was something you used to seek, before you realized what she wanted you to be.  _Anything but yourself._  And when she couldn’t mold you into what she wanted, she found it in… in…

Your younger brother stares at you, and you _hate_ it. You  _hate_  how detached he looks. You  _hate_  the hand she has on his shoulder, how proud she must feel. You hate the smile playing on her lips as she turns away with him, as she sneers,  _“You were always a disappointment._ ” It is expected, but you feel yourself unable to breathe anymore.  _It’s so cold here, Amanda, I hate the snow_ , is all you’re able to think as it builds upon your frame, cementing you permanently into the ground.  _Why was I not enough?_   You yearn for warmth, but it never comes.

 

 

 


	2. ii.

The routine, as same with the nightmares, never changes. You jolt awake with a long, loud intake of breath. The ceiling fan above your head greets you in the dark with a quiet whir. Sitting upright, you run a hand over your vigorously beating heart and attempt to steady your breathing.  _Ten… nine…eight…_ your room is suddenly freezing. Why did you turn the fan on in the first place? No one needs the a/c in the middle of winter, Connor. Winter… you don’t really like the winter. Or gardens. Or the cold.  _Shit- turn off that fan, already._

Your heart is still beating rapidly as you flip the switch off; your body still shakes as you wrap the covers around yourself. You don’t get sleep very often, so climbing back into bed is a little… strange, to say the least. Although, the comfort of your own bed is nicer than waking up from unconsciousness on your work desk. Now that you thought about it, tonight was the first time this week you managed to sleep for at least two hours. You promised them you’d try. Hey, you couldn’t help it- they had looked so damn  _cute_  asking you like that. Always finding a way under your skin. Always concerned for your well-being.

Peering over at the bedroom windows, a street lamp’s soft glow highlights the snowflakes that litter the glass. You wonder how late it is, so you pick up your phone. 2:54 a.m., exactly 23 degrees fahrenheit outside. Light snow for most of the morning, picking up in the early afternoon.  _Ugh_. With a groan, you shut your eyes and attempt to fall back asleep. For the most part, it’s quiet in your bedroom. Aside from the faint buzzing from your desktop computer.  ~~ _Pathetic, Connor._~~ You can also hear the few cars passing through your neighborhood. The wind outside seems to have picked up, too- has Sumo’s snoring always been so loud? You roll over to your other side. You flex your fingers and consider grabbing your lucky coin.  _You were always a disappointment._  The buzzing from your computer seems to have gotten louder. You don’t like sleeping on this side, so you roll onto your back. Damn. Now you’re really uncomfortable; you rarely sleep on your back. You roll back to face the windows again. That street lamp sure is bright. Buzzing. Wind. Snoring. Who the fuck is out driving at three in the morning?  _I expect you to do as I say, Connor. Not ask questions._ Alright, you’ve had it. You let out a frustrated sigh and throw the blankets off.

The bathroom light makes your eyes squint briefly before you stare into the mirror. Your hair doesn’t seem too out of place- you hardly touched it, besides brushing it to get it out of your eyes. Besides,  _they’ve_  mentioned how much they loved it, always saying how soft it was when running their hands through the dark locks. Your freckles that scattered your face were something they enjoyed tracing over. They also mentioned how lovely your eyes were, how it reminded them of freshly roasted coffee. Warm. A bit bitter at first, just takes some getting used to. Then you find yourself needing it every morning. You smile at the memory, and rub your cheek. You make a mental note to shave tomorrow, if you remember.  _Please, Amanda. You can count on me._  Turning the sink on, you splash your face with cool water and dry it with a nearby towel. Maybe a hot shower would help you fall asleep.  _It’s too late, Connor. You’ve failed. You’ve disappointed me for the last time._

Before you realize it, you’re gripping the sides of the sink, your breathing picking up harshly again. You close your eyes firmly and attempt to shut out her voice.  _You can go now. You’ve become just another nuisance to me- obsolete, as it were._

You just needed more time. Why didn’t she give you more time?

~~_If only you were like your brother._ ~~

~~_You were always a disappointment._ ~~

“I’m not… I’m…,” the waver in your voice only angers you. It makes your hands curl into fists, knuckles a soft white. You needed a fucking distraction- work, maybe? No- it’d be foolish to touch case files in your current state of mind. A cigarette. You needed a cigarette. Yeah, that sounded perfect- maybe two. It’d pained you, but you tossed most the packs you had weeks ago, as part of your promise. That’s okay, there was a convenient store just a few blocks away. You hadn’t touched a bottle of liquor in a while, either. Just one wouldn’t hurt. Or a few. Just enough so you couldn’t think anymore. It wasn’t your fault Nines had been promoted before you. It wasn’t your fault he became Amanda’s favorite after that day. To hell with her. It wasn’t your fucking fault. It wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t-

It isn’t long before you’re in the dim-lit kitchen and flinging open the bottom cabinet doors. Scotch wasn’t your favorite, but it seemed a waste to throw it out at the time. You sit it on the counter with a thud, but you’re only able to stare at it, teeth clenched. A few seconds pass. Your fingers twitch. It indeed had been a couple weeks since you had some sort of unhealthy indulgence; partnered with your lack of nicotine, the passing month had been immensely difficult. Combined with a shortened intake of energy drinks and sweets, your usual crabbiness had shot up several degrees higher (the entire DPD made  _that_  abundantly clear).

Except with  _them_ … never with them. You were completely different in their presence, you finally admit it. Everything about them pulled you from the darkness you held onto for so long. Shared laughs during lunch breaks; the way they’d brush that stubborn crumb off the corner of your mouth. The quiet moments in your living room, the t.v. a soft muffle as they fell asleep in your arms. Listening to the various cassettes in your beat-up old car at night when it wasn’t too cold out. Light kisses against the scar on your temple when they knew you were overworking yourself. Their face, their smile, their smell. Their voice. You wanted to hear their voice.

You missed them.

Guilt, so  _vexing_  and consuming, overtakes your thoughts. You promised you’d try. And here you were, ready to drown away your misery in distasteful liquor for the hundredth time.  ~~Pathetic, Connor.~~   _Yeah_ , you scoff,  _just a little fucking pathetic._  You run both of your hands through your hair with a heavy sigh; you can’t stand to look at the scotch any longer, so you toss it back in hiding. Once you’re back in your room and under the sheets, you send them a text.

_(3:13 am) **hey. i know it’s late. can’t sleep (nothing unusual, lol) and desperate to hear your voice. it’s all I can think about.**_

You hit send and regret it immediately. You shouldn’t be contacting them so late, this was incredibly selfish. They had work in the morning, too- you picked the worst time. You lay the phone against your chest. They won’t pick up, anyway.

The buzzing alerts to notify an incoming call. You pick up almost instantly.

“Hey,” you exhale, obvious relief in your tone.

“Hi,” they murmur, an obvious smile in their voice. It’s gruff and sleepy and quiet and lovely, you feel euphoric, peaceful.  _I won’t disappoint you._


	3. iii.

You don’t remember the exact moment your eyes went heavy, but you think it’s after they made a joke about Detective Reed’s uncanny resemblance to Elijah Kamski, You answered with a light hum, your lips turning slightly upward when you heard their laugh.

“Connor,” they whispered, “Connor, I think we should sleep now.” _I love you,_ you think, but it scares you, so instead you mumble, “I don’t want to hang up.” They sigh and you wish you were kissing them. “Stubborn… you should rest. It’s 4:37 am, baby.” “ I’ve stayed up longer,” you offer. You want to hold their face in your hands when you hear them chuckle again. “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Night,” you murmur, your grin stays after they’ve hung up, and you think you could let yourself be vulnerable for once.

 

This thought is solidified when they show up about fifteen minutes later at your doorstep, adorned in their sleep ware. You were upset at first, of course;  _you could catch a cold so quickly, what were you thinking?_ In truth, once they were wrapped around your arms underneath the bed sheets, you thought you could be selfish just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> my God this was a journey,,,,please just give this boy some sweet lovin i bEG of u,,,,,  
> a huge wonderful thank u to my lovely rubina for allowing me to originally post this on her AMAZING blog (01010010-posts.tumblr.com), please check her out she's incredibly talented <3


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